


6. Dragged Away

by titC



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, canon character death (jack), whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Some memories never leave you.





	6. Dragged Away

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) for organizing it and [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/) for the beta!  


Matt remembers. It is one of his most vivid memories: one he knows he’ll always remember, even when everything else has faded. It is always there near the surface, and he can just bring it forward with a thought.

* * *

He’d been listening to his dad’s fight with Creel; he’d been cheering him on and he’d felt so, so proud. His dad was winning; he was a Murdock. He always got back up, _always_.

And then he won; the crowd went wild. The fight was at Fogwell’s and the people who’d come to watch were there for Jack Murdock; it was the entire Kitchen that had just defeated Creel.

Matt’s heart felt so full then, and he knew his dad would be so proud. Matt wasn’t naive; he’d understood a long time ago his dad sometimes lost fights for money. But this time he’d turned it down and chosen to let the devil out, as the other boxers would say at Fogwell’s. Matt didn’t really know what they meant, exactly, but he’d seen it before the accident: that empty stare, the unstoppable punching machine his dad could become.

It should have been scary, but his dad had never scared him, _ever_. Even when he’d come home with his face covered in blood, even when he’d been unrecognizable from all the swollen bruises for days afterwards. Now, of course, Matt couldn't see it, but he knew it still happened. He could smell the blood, feel how hot the bruises were, how his dad sounded different when he spoke.

So yes, his dad could be scary, but he’d always been a gentle giant for Matt. Logically, he knew he had a mom too, but he told himself he didn’t _need_ one. She wasn’t there, and his dad had never clearly said where she was or if she was even still alive, and Matt had decided years ago he didn’t need one.

His dad was everything.

And really soon now, he’d be back. Maybe he’d take a few minutes to talk to the local press and celebrate with his friends from Fogwell’s but he wouldn't be long; he’d want to be with Matt too. Matt knew he was supposed to be in bed, but he was pretty sure his dad didn’t expect him to be after his big fight.

That was when he heard the gunshot. He’d grown up in Hell’s Kitchen; of course he recognized the sound. And it came from Fogwell’s.

It would be only later, much later, that Matt would realize that his senses had already developed beyond normal. They didn’t start being overwhelming and painful until that moment, but they’d been there.

He heard the gunshot, and suddenly he _knew_.

He ran. He wasn’t even using his cane, just holding it in front of him, entirely unaware that he _should_ have needed it. He ran to Fogwell’s and the police were already there.

“What’s the hurry?” one officer said.

Matt didn’t remember what he replied, just that he pushed past the officers and threw his cane away.

“Jesus, Ray, the kid’s blind.”

Matt remembered that. The officer said it right as Matt’s hands felt for the body there, found the face. _Dad’s face_. “Dad?” he asked. But he already knew. The temperature was wrong, the stillness was wrong, the silence in his dad’s chest was wrong. “Daddy! _Daddy!_”

He stayed there for a long time, crying and pleading and begging. How could his dad abandon him? Who could do that to him? Why would God let it happen? He’d think about that for years afterwards.

He isn’t sure he will ever forgive God, or his dad. He isn’t sure he could.

The world around him started to be too much, to smother him with _too loud _and_ too harsh_ and_ too strong_ and _too hard_ right in that moment, when they dragged him away from his dad’s dead, empty body.

He’s learned to use it and not let it crush and suffocate him, but it will never go away. Not his senses, and not his rage, born in the moment they dragged him away.


End file.
